Twenty Thousand Leagues of Murdoch
by Demosthenes23
Summary: A young man is found drowned in Lake Ontario but things aren't what they seem. The case leads Murdoch to another place, one from his distant past. Note: This is a continuation of my previous Murdoch Mysteries fan fics
1. There's Something Fishy here

Although the sun was shining on the early November morning, a mist was rolling across the gently lapping water. This caused the area to have both an ethereal and tranquil feel to it, which Murdoch found quite relaxing and pleasant. So much so, that he was finding it hard to focus on the task at hand. Luckily Crabtree was able to pull him out of his reverie by explaining the situation.

"That poor fellow found this poor fellow during his morning walk along the shore. Said he was frightened half to death and that he'd never go swimming again. I for one don't see why he's so scared. I mean, it's not like the dead man was half eaten or had worms crawling out of his eye sockets or-"

"Thank you, George," said Murdoch firmly. "Why don't you go speak to some of the other people here and see if any of them know anything more?"

"Right away, sir," he responded, completely oblivious as usual to the fact that he had acted unprofessional.

Murdoch watched as Crabtree joined Higgins in interviewing those present. They all looked horror stricken at what had occurred. He wondered if it was a bad sign that these things barely phased him anymore. Had he become desensitized to violence? Was he less human than when he first started this job? Or was it simply his way to deal with the atrocities he faced on a daily basis? He hoped that it was the latter but he couldn't say for certain.

Making his way over to the body, he found Julia already busy examining it. The deceased was a young man, most likely in his twenties. Judging by the small amount of bloating, he hadn't been dead for long, definitely less than twenty-four hours. Pieces of what appeared to be an aquatic plant were lodged in his jet black hair. Curiously, the upper half of his clothing was discoloured. There were lighter patches sporadically spaced all along his torso, with the highest concentration at his arms and shoulders. If there was a pattern to it, he couldn't see it.

Murdoch crossed himself, squatted down beside her and asked, "What have you, Julia?"

"Well, William, it appears that he drowned." She opened his eyes to reveal the tell tale sign of asphyxiation; the red and purple dots that he had become so accustomed to seeing over the course of his career.

"Petechial hemorrhages," he said.

"Yes, quite."

"Time of death?"

"Based on rigor mortis, I'd say between 3 and 9 hours ago. When I account for the time it takes for this amount of bloating to occur, it's likely on the longer side of that estimate."

"Any signs of a struggle?"

"His sleeves are a bit torn and there's a fair amount of bruising on his hands and face but that's about it."

"So the only question that remains is whether or not this was a boating accident." He said boating, for the man was not dressed for swimming. And besides which, the water was rather cold at this time of year. Not many would brave it.

"I won't be able to determine that until I get him back to the morgue."

"I'll have the men bring the carriage round and then you can be on your way."

"Thank you, William."

Murdoch called Higgins over and told him that they were ready to leave. He promptly attended to his duties.

Smiling slightly Julia said, "What are the chances that this was an accident?"

"Probably not too high."

"That's what I thought." Then she sighed and said, "It would be nice to get a break once in awhile, don't you think?"

"Absolutely, Julia. But until murder ceases to occur, someone has to do this job. After all, who else can speak for the dead?"

Before she could respond, Crabtree came over to give his report.

"None of them saw anything or know who he is," he said despondently. "According to them, he's not a regular among these parts."

It was looking more and more likely that this was indeed murder. Murdoch braced himself for what was to come.

* * *

Several hours later, Murdoch entered the morgue and proceeded to the viewing area in order to get fully briefed on the deceased. The young man lay on the cold slab, his entire body covered by a white sheet. Blood from the autopsy had soaked through the stitches and left a scary Y shaped pattern poking through. However, even though his face was heavily bruised, he appeared peaceful and at rest. If Murdoch was glad about anything, it was that.

"Now what can you tell me, Julia?"

She had been busy putting some medical supplies away but when he spoke, stopped what she was doing and came over to him.

"Let's take a look, shall we?"

He nodded and she pulled back the sheet. His torso appeared to be in perfect shape except for the incision in his chest and a few other bruises on his abdomen. The mans legs also only had a couple of markings. However, his arms were a different matter. They were quite bashed up. In fact, they were utterly brutalized.

Murdoch already knew the answer to his next question but he liked to have confirmation all the same. "Could he have sustained all his bruises simply from dragging on the bottom of the lake for some time?"

"It's possible but extremely unlikely," she replied. "If this had been natural, the bruising would be fairly evenly spaced all over his body, but as you can see, it's isolated to mostly the arms, hands and face."

"So he was trying to protect himself?"

"Yes, and I'd say from quite a furious individual."

"So murder then?"

"I'm afraid so," she said sighing.

"What else can you tell me?"

"After further testing, I've narrowed his time of death to about eight hours ago. As well, there were no foreign substances in his blood. As for the nail scrapings, they're over there." She pointed to her desk. "I haven't gotten around to examining them yet."

"That's fine," he said. "I'll do it later. What about his clothes? Do you know why they were discoloured?"

"If I'm not much mistaken, those are salt stains."

"And how would he have gotten that on him?"

"I was curious about that as well, so I analyzed his lung water."

"And what did you discover?" he inquired, knowing full well what she was about to say.

"It consisted mostly of saltwater, some micro organisms and some other debris. With a puzzled expression she said, "This doesn't make any sense though, William. He drowned in Lake Ontario."

"No, Julia," he said, "we _found_ his body in Lake Ontario. Clearly he died somewhere else and his body was dumped there later. The murderer probably hoped to cover up their indiscretion and assumed we'd just rule it an accident."

"But there are no oceans _anywhere_ nearby," she said, her features becoming even more confused. "Surely someone wouldn't have gone to all the trouble of drowning them in the sea and then transporting the body all the way back here. Besides which, he was definitely in the water for many hours. There's no way it's even _possible_ to have had the time to travel back from the ocean, deposit his body in the lake and still have his body look like that. So where on earth was he murdered?"

_Where on earth indeed._

The first and only thing that came to mind were public aquariums. From what he had read about them, they housed all the animals that zoos couldn't. But there were none in Toronto. In fact, there were none in Canada at all. The closest one was located in New York and had been operating for almost three years. But he wasn't about to hop on a train there until he had more to go on or had exhausted all his leads here. So for now, he would remain home-bound.

* * *

Back in his office, he had finished examining the nail scrapings. Other than some skin cells and dirt, there was nothing else present. On top of that, the cells weren't irregular in any way so they were a dead end. Next he began checking the clothing for additional clues. He combed the entire thing with his magnifying glass, looking for any trace evidence. Eventually he found something. There was a single brown hair stuck on the inside of the right sleeve cuff. Once he examined it under the microscope, he learned that it was indeed human hair. But beyond that, there was naught to ascertain. The lake water must have washed away everything else.

Murdoch wondered if a day would ever come in which forensic techniques would allow him to identify a person solely on their hair follicles. He liked to think so but doubted he would be alive to see it actually happen.

Refocusing on the remaining item to inspect (a sample of the plant from the dead man's hair), he again used his magnifying glass to get a closer look at it. Slowly flipping through the pages of the aquatic plant life book he had previously brought out, he compared the drawings to the specimen at hand. When he reached the end of the book, no more the wiser, he stared at the plant for awhile as if trying to divine what it was that way. Snapping out of the trance, he decided to go through the book once more. And once more came up empty handed. Obviously this species was not a very common one. If only he could figure out what it was, maybe he could also figure out where the man had been killed. For until he had an actual crime scene to investigate, he would likely never solve this case.

Since there was no public library, he opted for the next best thing: the university downtown, otherwise known as the University of Toronto. Not a very original name he thought but nonetheless very succinct. His hope was to find an expert in the field of aquatic plant life there, probably within the marine biology department. The only problem was, he didn't exactly know where this was located and just the science and engineering campus was quite large. He knew this from personal experience as he had been there on several occasions getting help with the logistics of some of his inventions, most notably the daylight in a box.

So rather than wasting time getting lost on campus, he decided to simply call the marine biology department and speak with the head of the operation. Either they would be the expert he sought or else, they would know the right person to be directed to. Or, and he dreaded to think it, no one would be able to help him and he would have hit a brick wall.

After speaking with the operator, he was patched through to the head of the department.

"Hello," said a surprisingly quiet spoken man, "who is this?"

"Hello, professor, I'm detective Murdoch of station house four and I was wondering if you would assist me in an investigation."

"Oh," he almost whispered, "this is rather unexpected. I don't believe we've ever had the constabulary contact us before." There was a slight pause. "How can I help you?"

"Well, I have this aquatic plant specimen and I can't seem to determine what it is. Do you know someone who might be able to come down here and examine it?"

"Plants, eh? Um, that's Jarvis's specialty. He may have only been here for a short while but I assure you, he's more than capable at his job. I'll go see if I can find him."

"Thank you, sir."

The line went silent and Murdoch let his mind wander. Mostly he thought about Julia and how much he wanted to take that next step forward with her. But unfortunately there was always this small part of his mind, this annoying voice in his head, telling him that the time was not yet right. After all, she was now having nightmares about plummeting to the earth in the hot air balloon. Which was not surprising considering that they had only had their casts removed about a week ago. But to make matters worse, she was _still_ having nightmares about being married to her late husband.

Even though she had admitted to seeing Dr. Roberts for some experimental brain shock therapy, it didn't seem to be healing her completely. Maybe some wounds were too deep to heal? Sometimes he wondered if she would ever get over it; _could_ ever get over it. And as he told her on that fateful, terrifying day in the hot air balloon, he wanted to have a fighting chance at having everything they've always wanted. But how much longer would he have to wait?

"Um, detective. I'm sorry but I can't seem to find him. He's always gallivanting about, it can get a bit annoying after awhile. Maybe I can help you instead?"

"Of course, sir. Would you mind coming down here as soon as possible?"

"Station house four, right?"

"That's correct."

"All right, I don't have any lectures to give for several hours. I should have enough time to come down there."

"Forgive me for not asking this sooner but what is your name?"

"Oh, I'm Professor Farnsworth."

"Thank you very much professor."

"Um, it might be wiser to save that until after I've helped you detective. Assuming I even can."

* * *

"Sir," said George as he knocked on Murdoch's office door, "there's someone here to see you."

"Tell him to come on in."

George turned around and waved at the man by the receptionists desk.

_That's not what I meant. I could have done that myself._

Murdoch got up to greet the balding man, with oversized glasses and rather tatty looking suit.

"Professor Farnsworth I presume," he said as he shook hands with the man.

"Oh, yes, that's me," he said smiling politely. "Now where is this plant you wanted identified?"

"Right over here, sir."

The professor took one look at it and his smile disappeared. Then he said something even quieter than usual. Murdoch asked him to repeat himself.

"I said, where did you find this?"

"It was on the deceased's body."

"Well, then, detective, I think I've just located Jarvis."


	2. Jarvis, who?

Professor Farnsworth studied the man in the morgue for so long that Murdoch felt compelled to say something.

"So professor, is that Jarvis or not?"

When he didn't respond, Murdoch placed a hand on his shoulder.

The professor jumped and exclaimed, "What? Oh, dear me! Detective, you frightened me!"

"Yes, sorry about that. But again, can you confirm whether or not that is indeed Jarvis?"

"Oh, um, it might be."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's a bit hard to tell with all the bruising. But it's probably him. I can't think of anyone else who would have had access to the Widdleton. At least, no one who is unaccounted for."

"I'm sorry, professor, the _what_?"

Farnsworth looked at him confusedly and then said, "Oh, the plant you found on his body."

"And what exactly is it?"

"Do you mind if we leave the morgue now?" he asked, face apologetic. "It's rather unsettling here."

"Of course."

* * *

In Murdoch's office once more, they continued the conversation.

"So this plant, professor, what is it?"

"Well, we're not exactly sure, we only acquired it a few days ago. I think Jarvis may have been premature in naming it so soon. Anyways, we acquired it from the Atlantic Ocean, quite a ways out from the coast of Nova Scotia. In fact, we've acquired quite a number of here-to-fore unheard of species from there. Many of which are animals. Some of which are quite large. We keep them in our lab for observation."

Things were starting to become clear to Murdoch. The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place nicely. He was annoyed at himself for not seeing it sooner.

"So, you're saying you have tanks full of these specimens in your lab? Saltwater tanks?"

"Yes, of course, detective. How else could they survive out of their natural habitat?"

"Professor, I'm going to need you to show me these tanks."

"What ever for, detective?"

"I believe that one of them will be the scene of the crime."

The blood drained from the professors face. "Oh dear me."

* * *

In one of U of T's out buildings, (which Murdoch was happy to note, was close to the waterfront), five large tanks stood before them, each with moveable stairways so that the top of them could be reached. Therefore, the room was very large, like a cathedral, complete with a dome like ceiling above them. The difference being that there were absolutely no windows. Murdoch assumed that was mostly for privacy, to prevent unwanted eyes from seeing what they had there.

And what they had there was unlike anything he had ever seen. Whether from books, photographs or otherwise. Though if any novel depicted anything even remotely close to what he was now witnessing, he'd say it was the one by the French author Mr. Verne. Even though the room was fairly dimly lit, (which Farnsworth explained was necessary in order to replicate their environments better), it was truly breathtaking. The sheer multitudes of creatures and plants was astounding. He couldn't fathom the amount of effort it must have taken to transport this all back here, let alone collect all of it in the first place. Or for that matter, _how_ they collected it.

Some of them were extremely odd looking, almost like God had gotten distracted while making them. Regardless of how they appeared, they moved quite gracefully, and it seemed, effortlessly around the tanks. Maybe they weren't as ugly as he had first thought? But who was to say what true beauty really was? After all, it's all in the eye of the beholder. And by the way Professor Farnsworth lovingly gazed at them, Murdoch assumed that _he_ at least thought of them like his own children.

Murdoch overheard Crabtree whisper to Higgins, "I wouldn't be surprised if there were mermaids in there! Or even Poseidon himself! Maybe one of them killed him for imprisoning them!"

"George," breathed back Higgins, "that's the most ridiculous thing I've heard you say in awhile."

From this vantage point, he could not detect any disturbances at all. The place appeared to be completely unaffected from what he was sure occurred there. Therefore, they'd need to scour the area until they dug up some more clues. Thankfully they could narrow it done to just two of the tanks, as those were the only ones that had the Widdleton growing in them. As well, one of them contained freshwater, so that specimens from the lake could be stored there (this tank, as well as two others, had additional lighting surrounding it). In fact, that had been the original purpose of the place. But thanks to advances in technology, humans were finally beginning to get a grasp on the mysterious lifeforms that the vast oceans contained.

"Thank you for all your assistance, professor."

"Oh, it was nothing, nothing at all. I still can't believe what happened. He was such a nice, outgoing young man. Why would anyone want to kill him?"

"That's what I'm going to find out. And if you don't mind, before you leave, could you provide a list of names of everyone who knew about this place or had access to it?"

He did so and Crabtree took note, furiously scribbling.

"And now I really must be going, detective. My class starts in less than half an hour and I still have to make my way back there."

"That's fine. Thank you again."

Farnsworth nodded once and then exited the building. Now the real work began.

Murdoch and his team first did a sweep around the bases of the two tanks that the professor had pointed out to them. They found nothing. Next they climbed the stairs slowly, looking for anything at all out of the ordinary. Crabtree was startled at one point when a big fish came right at him through the glass.

Afterwards he asked loudly, "Did you see the size of that thing? It was a sea monster! They shouldn't be allowed to keep such crazy things in here! It should be illegal!"

"Yes, George it was quite large," said Murdoch calmly and at the same time thinking George was prone to gross exaggerations. In actuality, the fish was no larger than the two of them combined. "Now can we please continue?"

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir."

They searched the top of the stairways, (Crabtree keeping his distance from the openings) and still came up empty handed, even though they had dusted for finger marks along the side of the glass.

_What's going on here? Shouldn't there be some signs of a struggle? Was the professor mistaken about which tanks grew the Widdleton__? _

He didn't see how, as he could clearly see the plant growing all the way to the top of the current tank they were standing near.

"This just proves it was vengeful mermaids!" exclaimed Crabtree.

"Yeah right, George," said Higgins. "And how exactly did they carry his body to the lake?"

"I don't know! But they did it!"

"I think your theories have gotten worse and worse the older you've gotten."

"And I think you're a-"

"_Constables_," interrupted Murdoch firmly. "Please try to behave."

"Sorry, sir," they both grumbled.

"Do you think we should try the day light in a box with the filter attached?" asked Higgins.

"We could," replied Murdoch, "but I don't think we'd find anything. Although the victim was severely bruised, there were no indications of his wounds actually bleeding. Besides which, I don't think there was time for that. I believe the struggle was over too quickly. And so I don't think he had time to do much striking back of his own."

"Why didn't we find _anything_ though, sir," inquired Higgins.

"Well, Henry, there are two options before us. One is that the murder did not occur here. Which is always possible but I think unlikely. All the elements for Jarvis's death are present here. There's even easy access to the lake from here. The other option is that the murderer had the presence of mind _and_ the time to clean up after himself extremely thoroughly. If I'm right and it is the second option, it means we're dealing with someone rather unsavoury. This person really knew what they were doing. And therefore we can probably rule out accidental homicide."

"But what kind of _scientist_ would be like that?" asked George.

"I don't know, George, I admit to being puzzled by that as well."

* * *

After asking several people for directions, they were able to locate the marine biology department. And within it, the four others that Crabtree had noted. Each of them took an individual to interview, Murdoch getting the additional one as well. It was this woman that he now spoke to.

"I just don't understand," she said shakily, tears streaking her porcelain skin. "Why would someone do such a terrible thing?"

"I hope to determine that. Whatever insight you can provide could be invaluable to my investigation."

"What do you want to know?"

"Did you notice Jarvis acting strangely at all recently? Did he seem out of sorts in any way?"

"Well," she said hesitatingly.

"Yes, Miss Lane?" he said in a prodding manner. "Go on."

"It's just, it's probably nothing and I'm sure the others wouldn't have been observant enough to see it, but he just didn't seem his chipper self when we returned from the latest expedition yesterday afternoon. I mean, he was trying his best not to let it show but I could tell something was bothering him."

"And did you ask him what that might be?"

"Oh, no," she said, the beginning of a blush creeping up her face. "We weren't close and I don't like to pry."

He wondered if this girl had been sweet on the victim. But he was tactful enough not to ask her this outright. Luckily Crabtree had not been the one to talk to her. Besides which, the blush had become a darker shade and she had averted her gaze. That was all the answer he needed.

While it was true that she was a brunette, he doubted very much that she would have had anything to do with his death. For starters, her hair was too long. The one he found on the body was much shorter. Also, she didn't give off the air of a spurned lover. Furthermore, the fact was that she wouldn't have been strong enough to overcome a man of Jarvis's size without the use of drugs. And he knew from Julia's toxicology report that there had been none. He hoped the others had had more illuminating conversations. However, after consulting with them, he learned that they hadn't.

_Now what?_

* * *

His full name had been Jarvis C. Kent. Murdoch realized he should have contacted his relatives earlier to let them know what had happened, but he had gotten distracted by all that had been going on. It was finally time to rectify the situation, so he asked George to get a hold of them and tell them to come down to the station house. After much confusion and hair pulling, it became an undeniable fact. Mr. Kent was not a real person. As far as anyone could make out, he had never existed.

_Who in the world was this man? And where did he come from?_


	3. And so we meet again

All five of them were brought down to the station house for further questioning. They were all similarly shocked at the revelation that Jarvis had not been who they thought he was. But none was more stricken than Miss Lane. He supposed it couldn't be an easy thing to have been in love with someone who turned out to be someone else altogether. Everything she had liked about him was probably faked, so that people wouldn't suspect what he had really been up to there. As to what that might have been, none of them had any clue. And he believed all of them.

It was hard to be in Miss Lane's presence and not be infected with her grief. This resulted in him thinking something rather strange. If he found out tomorrow that Julia was an alien, how would he react? Would he still love her the same way? Or would he be sickened by the very sight of her? Terrible as it was to say, maybe it was fortunate for Miss Lane that Mr. Kent (or whoever he was) was no longer among the living.

* * *

At supper time, he met up with Julia and they went to the park to eat, like they did most nights, or at least, as often as they could manage. Their favourite past-time involved discussing the current case they were working on.

"I'm not sure what to do now, Julia," he confided. "Everything has led to a dead end and I can't think of anything else to try."

"Well, William," she said, "I myself can only see one option left to you."

"Oh, do tell."

"There's only one thing that you know for sure. This mystery man was in Nova Scotia before his death. Something happened there that caused him to become upset. And shortly after that he was murdered. So, I'm afraid you're going to have to go there in order to continue your investigation."

"Nova Scotia?" he said slowly. "I haven't been there since I was a boy. I guess it's about time I paid it another visit. Would you care to come with me?"

"I'd love to, William, but I have other duties to attend to here. Like you said before, murder never ceases."

"Yes, I had a feeling you'd say that. But you can't blame me for trying, can you?"

"No, I suppose can't. I'll miss you too."

Then they turned towards one another (for they had been sitting on a bench) and Julia pulled him close like she did all those years ago during their first romantic picnic. Neither of them cared that they were directly under a lamp and so completely exposed to the pedestrians strolling along the path before them. They were long past the stage when public displays of affection bothered them. And by now, most of those people were likely accustomed to just such an occurrence by these two passionate lovers anyways.

* * *

"Nova Scotia?" barked Brackenreid with whiskey tumbler in hand. "Why the bloody hell do you need to go all the way out there?"

"Well, sir, like I just informed you, I've hit a dead end with this investigation. I have no choice but to go there."

The inspector glared at him for a few moments more and then expression softening said, "I see your point. You've been having a lot of adventures lately, haven't you, me old mucker? Hasn't it only been a week since your cast was removed?"

"That is correct, sir, and I would just like to say again that I greatly appreciated the offer for the time off but as I'm sure you know, I've never been one to sit around doing nothing."

"No, you aren't." Smiling widely he said, "I remember the last time you were sick in bed. You outwitted a goddamn fugitive!" He laughed loudly at the memory and then took a sip of his whiskey.

"Yes, sir," Murdoch said also smiling. "Strange things do seem to happen to me frequently. Anyways, do I have permission to go to Nova Scotia?"

"Of course."

"Thank you, sir."

Murdoch was about to leave the office when Brackenreid said, "Oh and Murdoch, try not to get into too much trouble. Take Crabtree with you." He smirked and said, "On second thought, maybe you shouldn't."

And so it was that very night that Murdoch and Crabtree found themselves on a train bound for the unknown.

* * *

A day and a half after their departure from Toronto, they had arrived in Halifax.

"Sir," said Crabtree as he shook Murdoch's shoulder. "We're here."

Murdoch opened his eyes and squinted in the bright sunlight streaming in through the train windows. Once they had become more accustomed to the brilliance of the day, he looked outside and was able to discern the ocean in the distance. It was still many miles out but certainly much closer than he had been to it in a long time.

They each grabbed their suitcases and then exited the vehicle.

"Now what, sir?"

"Now we check into a hotel, get cleaned up and have breakfast."

"I like your thinking, sir," said Crabtree smiling. "But it's almost ten thirty."

Murdoch glanced at his pocket watch and found that he was correct.

"Nevertheless, George, I'm starving."

* * *

An hour later they were heading to their next destination: the docks. Professor Farnsworth had given him the location of their many seafaring departures. They decided to walk there as they had been cooped up for quite awhile and wanted the exercise. It was during this time that Crabtree seized on the opportunity to ask Murdoch some personal questions. Ones that he had never thought to ask before.

"How many years did you live here for, sir?"

"Let's see, I was six when I came here and I stayed until I was twenty-one. So about fifteen years."

"Did you like it here?"

"Oh, yes, very much. It's only recently that I've come to love another place as much as this one."

"You mean Toronto, right? Is it because of Dr. Ogden?"

"Yes, George, that is correct."

"Are you two ever going to get married?"

"_George._"

"Sorry, sir, I didn't mean to pry."

_Of course you did._

"That's quite all right, George, but learning a little tact might be beneficial for you."

"As you say, sir." There was silence for a few seconds and then, "So what were they like? The Jesuits that raised you?"

"They were strict but fair, just the way that all teachers should be."

"But were you close with any of them?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I was close with one of them. In fact, I still am."

"Sir?" Crabtree asked confused.

"What I mean is, we've been writing to each other once a month since I left here."

"Even when you were on sabbatical and went to the Yukon?"

"Especially then, George."

"Wow," he murmured, "that's a long time to keep in touch with someone and never actually meet face to face."

"Yes, it is, George, but I hope to amend that situation some time during our stay here."

"I hope you do. I mean, imagine how strange the future would be if no one ever talked face to face and only ever communicated with letters!"

"I doubt it will ever come to that. Why should it? And if it did, it would be a very lonely place indeed."

Eventually they reached a point where the ocean spread out as far as the eye could see.

"Goodness me!" exclaimed Crabtree, eyes wide with disbelief. "It's gigantic! It must go on forever!"

"I assure you, George, that it does not. It only appears to because of our limited eyesight."

It was quiet for a few minutes and then, "What's that smell?" he asked sniffing the air like a dog and then clasping a hand over his face. "It's revolting!" he said in a muffled manner.

"Yes, it takes some getting used to. That's just the way the ocean smells. No one's really sure why but I think it's caused by the decomposition of the seaweed that washes ashore as well as any rotting fish carcases."

"How can you stand it?" he said, still covering his nose.

"Like I said, it takes some getting used to. You'll be fine in a little while."

"I hope you're right, sir, because otherwise I'm hopping on the next train out of here!"

Finally they had made it to the docks. It was a hub of bustling activity. Seamen were going about their business every which way, it was almost dizzying to watch them. In fact, it was rather too chaotic for Murdoch's tastes. Therefore it was fortunate that their destination was fairly removed from the action. He knew the general location that Farnsworth had given them based on his past time in Halifax but he wasn't entirely sure where it was. It didn't help matters that things were quite different here since the last time he had been there. So just like he had done on the U of T campus, he asked around until he was directed to the right location.

They ended up at a lonely looking warehouse. Murdoch was pretty sure this was the right place as it was another windowless building. Rounding a corner, they saw a small crowd of people surrounding what appeared to be a dead body.

_Yes, we're definitely in the right place._

Shortly after this thought, they were approached by a man. If Murdoch wasn't much mistaken, he was a police officer, though his uniform was different from the one Crabtree wore.

"Detective Murdoch," said Murdoch flashing his badge before the man could say anything.

The constable became puzzled and said, "We already have a detective. Besides which, your friend here is clearly not from these parts. What are you doing here?"

Before he could respond, another man came over, one that was all too familiar.

"It's okay officer," he said. "I know these men."

The constable shrugged his shoulders and left.

"Well, well, detective," he said, shaking Murdoch's hand. "I never expected to see you here."

"I could say the same thing about you, Mr. Pendrick."


	4. Out of Depth

"Who is the deceased man?" inquired Murdoch.

"That would be Percy. He was my night watchman."

"And what exactly was he guarding?"

"Something very important. It would be hard to describe. I think it's easier if I just show you."

There was no need to unlock the door as it had clearly been broken into. Pendrick led them inside and Crabtree gasped at what lay before them. And with good reason. A massive mechanical contraption was situated right smack in the middle of the room. But it wasn't on the floor, it was partly submerged in water. A large part of the ground had been cut away to accommodate it's immense size.

"What is it?" asked Crabtree in an awed voice.

"A submarine, George," said Murdoch knowledgeably.

_ "_Close, detective, but not quite. This is the future of underwater exploration. I call it the Nautilus." Murdoch smiled at this as that was the name of the submarine in Mr. Verne's novel. "Although it has many things in common with a modern submarine, it is far superior in almost every way. Its two hundred and fifty feet can hold up to ten men. Its electric propulsion system allows it to reach speeds of up to fifteen knots. And because the hull has been constructed with reinforced steel, it can withstand extreme pressures and travel to depths of almost three hundred metres."

"That's quite an accomplishment," said Murdoch, himself awed. "I've only read of submarines capable of reaching about fifty metres."

"Yes," said Pendrick smiling. "They have a long way to go yet. But I haven't even told you the most miraculous thing about it."

"Oh," said Murdoch, wondering how it could be any more grand. "And what would that be?"

"Since I have designed the Nautilus to primarily be a mechanism for furthering scientific knowledge of marine life, there is a special hatch that connects to another vehicle. This vehicle is attached to the underside of the hull and allows for a smaller two man exploratory team to leave the main ship _while_ submerged. This vehicle has mechanized arms, that can be controlled using a variety of levers, similar to a how a puppeteer manipulates his puppet. As well, there is a rather large net attachment. These two features allow one to take his pick of all that the beguiling sea has to offer."

Murdoch was at a lose for words. He had never heard of anything so amazing in all his life. He wondered if even his idol Mr. Tesla's brilliance was a match for this mans. Of course it was rather hard to compare the two as they mostly worked in completely different fields of study. However, there was no denying that Pendrick was a singularly gifted individual. If he hadn't been a detective, he would consider it an honour to work along side him on a future project. Of which, Murdoch thought, there would be many.

"That's bloody brilliant!" exclaimed Crabtree.

Pendrick eyed him with a wry expression and said, "Yes, thank you young man for that vote of confidence." Turning again to Murdoch he said, "And now that I've answered your questions, detective, I think it time you answer mine. Could you please tell me what possible reason you have for being here?"

Pulling himself together he said, "I'm following a lead in my current investigation. A man was murdered several days ago in Toronto near the waterfront. His name was Jarvis."

Pendrick closed his eyes and said, "Of course it was." Opening them he said, "I knew something was off about that young man."

"Would you care to explain that comment, sir?"

"I noticed him studying the blueprints for the Nautilus when he thought no one was looking. A lesser man might have construed his rapt attention as simple admiration. But I've always been wary of such signs, especially when a stranger is involved. And Jarvis _was_ new to that team of scientists. So when they went out on their latest expedition, I took the liberty of stowing them away in a safe place. And now it would appear that my precautions were justified. When I came in today, shortly before noon, I found my office in disarray and the special box I had stored them in missing."

"They took the whole thing?" said Crabtree quizzically. "Why would they do that?"

"No doubt they couldn't figure out how to open it. I did take great pains to ensure it couldn't be broken into easily." Pendrick smiled wryly and said, "Whoever is responsible is likely pulling their hair out right about now."

"Forgive me, Mr. Pendrick, but why would anyone bother stealing the blueprints? Don't you have a patent on this design? It would be highly illegal for anyone to try and duplicate it."

"Don't be so naïve, detective. Do you really think that the type of people who commit multiple murders are going to care about legalities? Besides which, I theorize that they wouldn't be building an exact duplicate anyways. I have the distinct feeling that they plan to modify it for rather destructive purposes."

"You think they're planning on creating a war machine?"

"That would be my guess, yes, detective. The last thing I ever wanted my invention to be used for was chaos. However, I'm not too worried about this occurring."

"And why is that?" asked Murdoch.

"Let's just say that if they succeed in breaking into it, there's a surprise in store for them."

Several thoughts occurred to him then. One was that Jarvis was likely killed for failing to complete his assigned task. That would also explain the attackers apparent fury. As to why they had been scheduled to meet in Toronto, he was uncertain. Wouldn't it have been simpler to hand them over in Nova Scotia? Perhaps the plan had been to get some distance between the theft? Or was it something else altogether? Now that the person or persons responsible for the theft had been successful, would they be heading back to Toronto?

There was no way to know for sure and besides which, he had no idea who _they_ were yet. The only further investigating he could accomplish right now involved examining the dead guard. Maybe the criminals had slipped up a bit and left behind a clue this time?

Murdoch approached the detective on site, hoping he would be more helpful than the constable from before. He wasn't. But the medical examiner there was. He was a nice elderly man who had no qualms about telling Murdoch his findings. As far as he was concerned, the more the merrier.

"So, as you can see," said Archibald, "this man was clearly strangled. And by an extremely strong fellow, I'd wager. This poor man was likely dead in seconds."

He was indeed correct, the killer had been able to squeeze so hard that they had ripped through the skin in several places. Murdoch didn't fancy being cornered by whoever did this.

"Anything else you can tell me, doctor?"

"I'm afraid not, detective. But I'd need to do an autopsy to know that for sure."

"All right then. Thank you very much, sir."

"My pleasure."

Murdoch ignored the stares of the other police men present and headed back to the warehouse. There he found George gawking at the Nautilus and Pendrick describing other things about it.

"...imagine makes it quite heavy. In fact it's around 183 tonnes. Furthermore,-" Pendrick stopped talking when he saw Murdoch nearing. "What have you discovered, detective?"

"Nothing I didn't already know."

"I see," said Pendrick, clearly annoyed. "And how do you plan to remedy your lack of knowledge?"

"I believe that you can help me there."

"Oh, really? How so?"

"I need a list of all your competitors. Or anyone at all you think would want to steal your design."

"That would be an extremely long list, detective. People all over the world would kill for it."

"Yes, and now they have," he said gravely. "So if you want to prevent more bloodshed, you better start talking."

* * *

After contacting all of the local competitors and learning nothing new, they found themselves aimlessly wandering around. It was then that a street kid called them over to him. He appeared to be the leader of a group of little rascals as he was sitting on the top of some stairs, with the others all below him.

"What do you want?" asked Murdoch politely.

"It's not what I want copper, it's what you want."

"Oh, do tell."

"Me and my boys here heard ya were lookin' for some bad men. I can help ya find 'em." He smirked and said, "And all it'll cost ya is two dollars." The other boys laughed at that.

"Now see here you hooligan-" began Crabtree.

"_George._ That is quite unnecessary." Turning back to the leader, "And why should I believe you?"

"It don't seem like ya got much of a choice, now do ya?" Murdoch started to turn away and the child said, "One of 'em's got brown hair and the others a strong lookin' bald bloke.

That statement got his attention and he stopped in his tracks. "Where did they go?"

"Nice try copper but I want the money first."

Begrudgingly Murdoch searched around in his wallet until he found enough change. Then he handed the nearest boy half of it.

"So distrustful," said the homeless kid shaking his head. Again the boys laughed. "Fine copper, have it your way. My boy Warren here saw 'em leavin' the docks the other night after they killed that poor bugger. He followed 'em all the way to the pub."

"Which pub?"

"The Pot of Gold."

"And have they left it since?"

"Not that we know of."

Murdoch tossed over the remaining coins and was on his way.

* * *

A half an hour later, they found the pub in question. It was dank, dirty and crowded. And as a result, uproarisly noisy. They scanned the room for the men in question, getting many odd looks back, but couldn't discern anything specific in the hoard. So Murdoch flashed his badge at the barkeep and the noise died down almost immediately. The effect was rather unsettling but he tried to pay it no mind.

"What can I do for you this fine evening, detective?" said the semi-toothless proprietor.

"We're looking for some men."

"Hey buddy, this ain't that kinda establishment!" yelled a drunk fellow among the mass. Riotous laughter ensued.

Crabtree looked like he wanted to punch the guy out but couldn't as he didn't know which one said it.

"Shut up you drunken louts!" screamed the bartender. "Show some respect!"

They quieted down again and Murdoch said, "Thank you, sir."

"Don't mention it, detective."

"Now as I was saying, we're looking for two criminals. They murdered a watchman down by the docks. We have reason to believe that they may be hiding out here."

The barkeep appeared very uncomfortable with this news. So much so that he accidentally dropped the mug he had been cleaning on the counter. "You don't say? How horrible."

Murdoch glanced at the stairs beside the bar, where a man was currently ascending. "Do you have rooms up there?"

"Yes."

"Have you recently rented any out to a man with short brown hair and a muscular bald man?"

"As a matter of fact, I believe that we did. One for each of them."

"I'm going to need you to give me access to those rooms now."

"Of course, detective."

The bartender led them up the stairs and opened the door to room five. Murdoch and Crabtree barged in, ready for anything. It turned out that there was no need for caution, there was no one there. There was, however, an open window. Then they headed to the other room and found the exact same thing.

"Darn it!" yelled Crabtree, punching the air.

Murdoch thought of something then. He was annoyed at himself for not seeing it earlier. Turning around quickly he grabbed the barkeep by the collar and said loudly, "Did you help tip them off?"

The barkeep broke out into a cold sweat and exclaimed, "They made me! They said they'd kill my family if I didn't help them out! I had no choice!"

"Where is the other man? The one that went up the stairs just before we did?"

"I don't know! Maybe he went with them!"

"Uh, I don't think so, sir." said Crabtree standing by an open closet door.

Still holding on to the poor fellow, Murdoch marched over there and saw what Crabtree was talking about. There was a man sitting in shadow, propped up against the wall there.

"George, check to see if he's alive."

Crabtree knelt down and placed his fingers on his neck for several seconds.

"Yes, sir, it appears so. He's just out cold."

"Do you have any smelling salts?" Murdoch asked the bartender.

"Maybe. Might be some downstairs."

"George, go with him and make sure he doesn't try anything."

"Right away, sir," he said grabbing him by the arm and steering him out of there.

In the meantime, Murdoch surveyed the room for anything out of the ordinary. He went back to the other room and did the same. There was still nothing to find.

Five minutes later they returned. The bartender handed over the salts and Murdoch put them to good use. Within seconds the unconscious man awoke. He gazed up at them in an unfocused, confused manner.

"What happened?"

"You were knocked out."

"Ah, that would explain why my head hurts so much." He massaged the back of it for a few seconds and then said, "Oh, I'm supposed to say something to a detective Murdoch."

Crabtree and Murdoch shared a surprised look.

_Why am I being mentioned by name?_

"I'm detective Murdoch."

"Great! Now what was it? Oh yeah! Stay away from us if you don't want to get hurt. The next time I see you, I might get my colleague to rearrange your face. Like I did with Garvis. Or was it Jarvis?"

"Did a brown haired man tell you to say this?"

He nodded.

"Do you have any idea where they were headed? Did they mention anything at all?"

Murdoch didn't expect that they would have let anything slip but he had to know for sure. They so nearly caught them tonight.

"I don't think so," he said slowly. "Hmm, wait a minute. They might have."

"What did they say?" Murdoch asked eagerly.

"The bald one said something about 'needing him'. Whatever that means."

Murdoch instantly knew what that meant. And it didn't bode well for Mr. Pendrick.


	5. Priestly Intentions

Before they had left Pendrick that afternoon, Murdoch had gotten the name of the hotel that he was staying at so that they could update him on the current progress of the case. He had said that he was staying at The Fairmont in room 338. That's where they headed right now.

Murdoch banged on the door and yelled, "Mr. Pendrick? It's detective Murdoch."

There was no response and Crabtree prepared to knock it down. However, right before he did, the door opened and lo and behold, Pendrick was behind it.

"What the devil's the matter?" he asked, eyebrows raised. Pendrick was in his pajamas and appeared extremely drowsy.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Pendrick. We had reason to believe that you were in danger."

His eyes narrowed and he said, "Is that so? And why would that be?"

"It seems your security box is giving them no end of grief. It's likely that they need your help in opening it."

"Yes, I imagine that they would," he said smirking. "Thank you for informing me of this. You may go now."

"Sir, I think it would be wise if we stayed out here for the night, just to make sure that you are safe."

"As you wish, detective. I'm going to bed now. You better be alive come morning. I'm going to have enough nightmares about finding Percy like that."

He closed the door. Shortly after, Murdoch said, "George, please go get us some coffee. We're going to be needing it."

* * *

At 7:00 they waited for Pendrick to come out. It was at this time that the complementary breakfast began being served. When he didn't show himself by 7:20, Murdoch began to worry. He knocked on the door. There was no response. He knocked louder. Still no response. They got the housekeeping lady to open the door for them. The room appeared to be in perfect condition. The only problem was that Pendrick was nowhere to be found. Beside the bed he found a black cloth. He picked it up and sniffed it.

_Chloroform. What a nasty drug._

Murdoch stared out through the open window and towards the grass. Even from this height he could see indentations in it from where the ladder had been. He cursed himself. He had a horrible feeling that this was all his fault.

* * *

"Why do you say that, sir?" asked Crabtree. "How could this possibly be your fault?"

"Because, George, it seems awfully coincidental that it wasn't until _after_ we came rushing over here that Pendrick was kidnapped! They purposely let that man overhear their conversation! They wanted him to tell us that!"

"But why, sir, what would be the point?"

"I have a feeling that they didn't know where Pendrick was staying and it's my fault for falling for the trap! We led them right to him!"

"You couldn't have known that, sir. It was entirely logical to come here."

"That's just it, George! They knew exactly what to say to get me to come here!"

Heaven help him, he thought. _Once they have what they want, he'll be disposable. Please God, keep him safe! Don't punish him for my mistakes!_

* * *

They went back to The Golden Pot, hoping to get better descriptions of the criminals from their two helpers. Only the barkeep remained there since last night, the other man had skipped town. They took him down to the station house and got the sketch artist to make a rendering. They didn't turn out too well though. Murdoch was annoyed at not having his carefully crafted face plates with him. They always helped a person to visualize things better. But he had to admit, there was _something_ familiar about the vaguely drawn features of the brown haired man, he just couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Since they really had no idea where they would have taken Mr. Pendrick, Murdoch had no choice but to enlist the help of the local policemen in helping them in the search. They weren't too happy about following orders from an out of towner but they did so anyways. Largely in part because Inspector Brackenreid had called the other day and asked their inspector ever so kindly, to extend every courtesy they could to Murdoch. The other part no doubt had to do with showing him up, showing him how _real_ police work was done.

They searched all day but were none the wiser by the end of it. Murdoch was in need of some serious guidance. And there was only one place that he could get it.

* * *

Walking down the aisle, he passed by a few people silently praying and tried his best not to disturb them. When he reached the end, he crossed himself and reverently gazed upon Jesus in all his sacrificial glory. For a few minutes he just stood there with head bowed and prayed. Once he finished, he looked up and saw a priest standing slightly off to the side of him. He was staring at Murdoch intently and rather (Murdoch thought) inappropriately. The man was quite old, as evidenced by his desiccated skin, yet he still had a full head of snowy white hair. It took a little time but then he realized who the man was.

"Father O'Connell," he whispered, turning towards him.

Murdoch thought it odd that he felt so nervous about seeing this man again. It wasn't like they hadn't kept in touch over the past twenty years. So why were his palms sweating?

_"Will?"_ asked the man croakily. "Is that really you?"

"Yes, it's me," he said, wiping his hand and then shaking O'Connell's. "I'm surprised you were able to recognize me."

"Why shouldn't I, son? To me, it appears as if you've barely aged a day. Unfortunately the same thing can't be said about me." He touched his face and hair. "Besides," he said pointing to the small glimmer coming off of Murdoch's mostly concealed badge, "I don't often get detectives poking around in here."

Murdoch smiled at his observational skills. They were just as sharp as always. And suddenly all of his nerves washed away and he felt like he had been teleported back in time to when he was just a boy. Eager to learn and full of promise. Maybe some things never change?

"Now," said the aging priest, "I assume you didn't come all the way out here simply to say hi. So who died?"

"I think it would be prudent to discuss that in private."

"You were ever the prudent one, weren't you? Even as a boy."

"Yes, I suppose I was."

"What a pity. Well come along then, Will."

* * *

"How dreadful. Such a senseless waste of life. When will mankind be enlightened enough to stop committing murder?"

"I don't know father. I fear we will never evolve to those heights. Killing is in our nature."

"I have faith, Will, and so should you." Murdoch looked like he was about to apologize but the priest waved his hand. "There's no need for that. I know you're still a believer. I imagine that must be difficult given what you see every day."

"It can be but I've learned to persevere."

"Yes, you were always very good at that too."

Next Murdoch informed father O'Connell about everything he knew concerning the case. The old man listened patiently, only occasionally interrupting in order to ask a question for clarifications sake.

"So can you think of anything at all that I missed? Some clue that might point towards Pendrick's location?"

There was silence for a long while. The priest had his eyes closed and he appeared to be sleeping. Murdoch knew better. He had seen him do this a hundred times over the course of their time together. It was his way of processing a lot of information at once and coming to a conclusion.

Finally he opened them and said, "You say that these men know you personally?"

"I believe so, at least, they knew me by name."

"Therefore you've likely been in contact with at least one of them on a past case?"

"Yes, that seems logical."

"So who do you think that could be?"

"That's why I'm here, father, I don't know."

"I think you do, Will."

"Are you saying that _you_ know who it is?"

"No, I'm not saying that."

"Then what _are _you saying?"

"I'm saying that you need to try to look past what you think you know. You need to peel back the veil of obscurity. Only then will you see the truth."

Murdoch looked at him exasperatedly and cried, "This is no time for riddles, father! A man's life is at stake!" And then all of a sudden it hit him. "Oh. I think I see now."

The priest smiled and said, "I knew you would."

* * *

Silently creeping along the outside of the building, they slowly made their way to the back entrance. Men had been kept by the front exit as well. Murdoch put his ear to the door and listened for signs of movement. What he heard told him that he was in the right location.

"...tell you! Torture me all you want! You'll never open that box! Which is a shame considering that you should have been able to figure it out! Luckily for me, you never did pay much attention!"

"Oh you'll tell," said a deep voiced man. "One way or another."

"I doubt it! You've had an entire day and you still haven't managed it! What makes you so certain that now will be any different?"

"Quiet, both of you! I think I heard something."

That was their cue. Murdoch gave the signal and the constables broke the door down from both entrances. They swarmed the room with shotguns raised. Pendrick was tied up to a chair in the middle of the room. Next to his bruised and bleeding body were various cruel looking tools, many of which were covered in blood. When he saw them, he broke out into a smile.

"Took you long enough, detective," he said. "I believe you two have met."

Turning to the person in question Murdoch said, "Yes, we have indeed, though I can't say this is a pleasure."

"You're so hard to please, Murdoch. I would have thought I deserved a little more welcoming after all this time."

"You're absolutely right. How rude of me. You're under arrest Sally Pendrick."


	6. The Wild Blue Yonder

While Pendrick was recuperating in the hospital, Murdoch took the liberty of questioning Sally in interrogation room number two at the station house nearby. Crabtree waited outside, viewing the whole thing through the observation window.

"Who were you planning on selling those blueprints to?"

She smiled and said, "Not so fast detective, I want you to tell me how you found me first."

"Sorry, Mrs. Pendrick, but I'm not one of your little street kids that you can compromise with."

"So you figured that out too? Good for you. It was a calculated risk that you might wonder why they approached you, especially when your friend there doesn't even look like a constable. But it was necessary in order to get what I wanted."

"And how did that work out for you?"

"Mockery doesn't suit you, detective. I thought you were above that. Why are you being mean to me? I'm just a poor, defenseless woman after all." Then she tossed her long blonde hair for good measure and laughed. Murdoch wasn't amused with her antics.

"You might have tricked me last time but you didn't succeed this time. Your disguise wasn't as fool proof as you thought."

"I suppose you must be right seeing as I'm here. But I'm curious, did you really have no suspicions about the man in the pub?"

"Of course," he responded. "How else do you think I determined that it was you? But I must admit, I didn't realize that I had been duped until I realized it made no sense for those children to speak to me."

"I'm flattered that you thought my voice was so convincing. I'm not too surprised though, I did spend several days perfecting it."

"Enough about that. Tell me something useful. Who was Jarvis?"

"Jarvis was just someone I met recently. I guess I could tell you his real name." Smiling again, she said, "It doesn't matter much now seeing as I ordered Baxter to kill him. I do admit that he got a bit carried away. Baxter's always trying so hard to please me. I think he thinks that we're a couple. It's quite pathetic actually. I should-"

"Mrs. Pendrick, could you please stay on topic?"

"Of course, detective. Anything for you." Then she blew him a kiss. Murdoch ignored her seductive display, she laughed again and then continued talking. "His name was Hank Dremel. Several months ago when I first met him, he was a sad, forsaken boy who just needed some direction in life. I offered to help him out. I may or may not have promised him certain...favours in return. I trained him myself and so I assumed that he would be able to handle a simple assignment. That was my mistake."

"You've been making a lot of those recently."

Sally ignored his jibe and continued as if he hadn't spoken. "His only goal had been to take pictures of the blueprints so that no one would even know that they were missing. Somehow he managed to fail at that simple task."

"But why did you even need him? You disguised yourself, you could have done that yourself."

"True, but the risk was always there that my dear husband might recognize me. Most likely my lovely face has been forever imprinted on his brain. And unlike with you, I didn't have the benefit of shadows obscuring my features. Besides, I know how his mind works. He'd never leave something so precious to him just lying about. I knew he'd lock it up. Why bother trying to crack the safe when I didn't have to? And for that matter, why bother coming all the way out to Nova Scotia if I didn't have to?"

"Your laziness cost two men their lives. What's happened to you over the past two years? I thought you enjoyed challenges?"

"Oh, I still do, detective. But I had other matters to attend to in New York."

He quickly clued in to why she had been there. "You were trying to sell the blueprints to the aquarium."

"Very good, detective. A design like that would be priceless to them. They'd have people coming from all over the world to see the wonders they had in store. I'm surprised your own country wasn't trying to capitalize on the situation. Instead of becoming rich, they've kept their secrets locked away and purely for scientific research. What a wasted opportunity."

"That's your opinion. I think it's our duty to understand these things first before we unleash them on the public."

"But where's the fun in that?" she asked smiling widely. "And now you really must tell me how you located me. It's only fair."

"Let me just make this very clear. I don't owe you anything. But I'll tell you anyways. Once I deduced that you were the one behind this, I just had to think like you in order to determine your location. You've always been very good at having a contingency plan and making a fast escape. I figured that you'd likely do so again as you knew that I might be closing in on you. So naturally any deserted buildings near the train station or the docks were my number one concern. And, well, here we are."

"But there are scores of buildings along the docks. It would have taken ages to search all of them."

"That's why I enlisted the help of some locals."

"Even with the police's help, it would have taken forever!"

"Oh, I didn't mean those locals. I meant those children you so kindly pointed out to me. It's amazing what they can accomplish with the right incentives."

"Damn those little brats! They have no loyalty whatsoever!"

"Now, now, Mrs. Pendrick. There's no need for name calling. After all, it was a calculated risk to involve them." He smiled and said, "A poorly calculated one but calculated nonetheless."

She glared at him but didn't respond and Murdoch left the room.

"Now what, sir?"

"Now I'm sure we'll be fighting over jurisdictional rights with the States as to who gets to prosecute her. They never did catch their Sally Hubbard. And I'm sure they're anxious to do so."

* * *

"How are you doing, Mr. Pendrick?" he asked by the battered man's bedside.

"Perfect, detective, just perfect."

"Oh?" he said confused.

Pendrick smiled and said, "You finally caught my villainous wife. Now I don't need to wonder if she'll ever appear one day and try to seduce me with her devilish charms once more. Now I can finally get a good nights rest."

"I'm glad I could help. I know we didn't always see eye to eye about-"

"It's all in the past, detective. No need to dredge up those old ghosts. I've been haunted by them long enough."

Changing the topic Murdoch asked, "Why didn't she attempt to cut the box open?"

"She suspected that it was booby trapped. And she was quite right. You see detective, if she attempted to force her way in, a vial of special liquid would have been released and the blueprints would have been wiped clean."

"So what was the secret to opening it then? I tried myself and had no luck. I overheard you saying that Sally should have deduced how to. So what was she missing?"

"Do you have it with you?"

Murdoch turned towards the door and said loudly, "George, bring it in!"

Crabtree handed it to him and Murdoch deposited it in Pendrick's lap. It was a completely smooth container, except for the edges that allowed it to open. There was no keyhole of any sort.

"I was referring to something I mentioned to her on occasion. If she hadn't been so busy stealing all my money, she might have actually heard what I said."

"Go on."

"Are you familiar with La bohème?"

"That's an Italian opera by Giacomo Puccini. It's first performance was almost 4 years ago."

"A-plus, detective. Anyways, after we attended the grand opening here in Canada, I would often times go on about how much I loved the ending. It was heartbreaking but beautiful. Sometimes I would even hum the final notes out. Just like this."

Pendrick hummed a sad tune for a few seconds and then there was a click. Followed by another click and the box swung open. Across the length of the blueprints rested a vial with a purple substance inside. This vial had clearly previously been attached to the spring mechanism that unlocked the case. There was also a small microphone rigged up to the vial. When the right tones had been played, this had disengaged the whole set up, allowing the blueprints to be removed without destroying them.

"That's bloody brilliant!" exclaimed Crabtree.

"Once again, thank you young man. You certainly do wonders for fueling my already rather oversized ego. It could be worse," he said smirking. "At least I'm man enough to admit it."

And then before either of them knew what was happening, Pendrick opened the vial and released the substance over the blueprints. Within seconds, the entire thing had been erased.

"Mr. Pendrick, why did you do that?" asked a shocked Murdoch.

"Because, detective, some things are meant to be buried. Even if Sally wasn't successful, there are bound to be others. And who is to say what their intentions for it will be? I couldn't live with myself knowing that I had been the root cause of death and destruction. And so, I believe I need to decommission the Nautilus as well. I fear mankind was not ready for it after all."

"That will be a great shame," said Murdoch.

"Yes, it will be. But I foresee a final voyage on the horizon. What do you say, detective? Will you dare go where no man has gone before?"

* * *

His experience on the Nautilus was the most exhilarating one to date, perhaps only rivaled by his most recent airborne journey. Certainly, this one had been far more enjoyable and painless. For as long as he lived, he would cherish the memories that he acquired on that day. And only a select few would ever know the intimate details of his voyage into the wild blue yonder.


	7. It's About Damn Time!

Since Murdoch knew that the constabulary there would likely debate with the Americans for days, if not weeks, as to who would get to prosecute Sally, he decided to take Crabtree on a tour of the area and show him all of his old haunts. Unfortunately many of them were vastly changed from those days and so it wasn't what he had been expecting. This had a major dampening effect on his ability to reminisce about past times and eventually he gave up the endeavour. After that he decided to pay another visit to Father O'Connell. At least one thing remained the same.

Crabtree insisted on coming this time as he thought it'd be fascinating to see where Murdoch grew up. Murdoch had meant this to be a solo venture but relented when Crabtree wouldn't stop bothering him about it. Murdoch told Crabtree that he'd have to explore the grounds himself as he wanted to speak with Father O'Connell privately.

* * *

They chatted about the successful conclusion to the case for awhile.

Then there was a lull and Father O'Connell said, "And now tell me what's going on with you and Julia. You made it sound like you two were having problems in your last couple of letters. I'd like to help you in any way I could. I believe that I'm still somewhat gifted at guiding those in need."

Being there with his old mentor, in the same office that he knew so well, had the effect of calming Murdoch and as a result, loosening up his tongue. Thus, he allowed himself to divulge things that he had never spoken aloud to another living soul.

"...right time. How can she give herself fully to me, if a part of her, even if it is just her subconscious mind, is still terrified of the last man she was married to? What if her fears somehow transfer on to me and our marriage is doomed from the start?"

"I don't think you're giving her enough credit, Will. From everything you've told me, she sounds like a remarkable woman. You even said she herself has wondered when you'd tie the knot. It seems to me that she isn't the one who's afraid here. So what's the problem, Will? Why do you keep stalling? What is it that you're so afraid of?"

He couldn't believe how keen his mind still was all these years later. Father O'Connell had always been able to pierce through the fog and pinpoint that one thing you were really talking about.

"I guess," he said quietly, "I guess I'm just afraid I'll turn into him."

"What makes you think you'd ever be anything like your father? You've abstained from alcohol all your life and done your best to follow an honourable path. You help people find peace and get justice for those who can't do so themselves."

"But _why_ am I so fascinated by such macabre things? I should be an inventor or a professor or something like that. Something not so tinged in constant sadness."

"You aren't fascinated by the macabre, Will. You're fascinated by the puzzle. You love to solve the puzzles. But you already knew that. You're still avoiding the real question here. What is it that you're so afraid of?"

"It's just...it's been so long since we started down this road and I've never successfully taken a relationship to the next level. Something terrible and unexpected always seems to happen that prevents it."

"So, you're saying you think Julia will die if you get engaged? Like Eliza did?"

Murdoch nodded slowly, haltingly and murmured, "I know it's not rational in the slightest but-"

"Will, Eliza's death was a terrible loss but God had a plan for her, as he does for all his children. If you and Julia are meant to be, nothing will stop that from happening. You need to let go of your fears and just live your life."

"But that's just the problem!" he cried. "I don't know how to do that!"

"Yes, you do, Will. You found the courage once before to propose to her. But fate deemed it was not yet time for you to be together. Now the time is ripe for change. You need to find that courage once again, while you still have time, while God has given you this second chance at happiness. And trust me, Will, he _does_ want you to be happy, no matter how much it doesn't seem like it sometimes. He's only ever wanted the best for you. As do I."

Murdoch opened his mouth to respond but there was a knock on the door then.

"Come in," said the old man as loud as he could manage.

Another priest entered and said, "I'm sorry to disturb you father but we discovered a lurker near the orphanage. He claims to be a constable but he's not wearing the right clothing for one."

Father O'Connell glanced at Murdoch and he gave him an apologetic look.

"It's okay, father Goodman, that man is with the detective here."

The priest eyed Murdoch suspiciously and then left the room.

"I believe that our reunion has come to an end, Will. I shall be sad to see you go."

"As will I, father."

* * *

Eventually Murdoch became tired of the constant negotiations involving Sally's fate and so he decided to head on home. He thanked Pendrick once more for letting him explore the unknown, wished him a speedy recovery and then said goodbye. Within an hour, they were on their way.

* * *

Another day and a half passed by and they were finally back home. It felt like forever since he had left, though it had only been a week. A large part of this was most assuredly due to missing Julia. Throughout the entire train ride back, he had thought about what Father O'Connell had said to him. In the end, Murdoch knew that he was right, just like always. He felt extremely foolish for having ever thought those thoughts again, like he did all those years ago before she left for Buffalo. After all, the idea that she would contract a deadly disease or in some other way be fatally injured simply because they got engaged was preposterous. If only he hadn't hesitated so much back then, they could have avoided so much heartache. It took a long time but he did succeed in pushing those ridiculous thoughts out of his mind. And more so than that, he obliterated them, so that they could never return. And it was a good thing too, as the time was ripe for change, and he didn't want it to spoil.

* * *

"Here's where we shared our first kiss. Do you remember?"

"How could I forget, William? And I'd say it was rather more than just our _first_ kiss."

He smiled and said, "Yes, you're quite right. Sorry that alcohol makes me such a scoundrel."

"Oh, I didn't mind too much," she said also smiling.

They kissed, held hands and then continued on through the park on the chilly November evening. The stars were out in full force, well as much as they could be given the amount of light pollution present. Murdoch hoped that future generations would discover a way to lessen this or they'd never get to enjoy the grand majesty that the night sky had to offer. Somehow he was very doubtful that they would manage this but he tried to stay positive and think like Father O'Connell would. He tried to keep faith in humanity but it was difficult. He supposed nothing was easy, just like what he was about to do.

Walking for awhile they came to another of Murdoch's scheduled spots and came to a stop.

"What about this place? Does it seem familiar?"

"Of course, this is where we went up in the hot air balloon last time." She shivered then and he knew it wasn't from the cold. "Don't remind me of it."

"I didn't want to bring up bad memories, I simply wanted to show you how strong we were then, how strong we still are. That we can survive anything that life throws at us."

"Okay," she said in a suspicious manner. "What's all this about, William? Why are we out here on such a dreadfully cold night?"

"All in due time, Julia."

They came to a third spot under a brightly illuminating lantern. The shrubs nearby were frosted with snow, like icing on a wedding cake.

"And here? Do you know what's special about this place?"

Julia looked around for awhile and then said, "I'm sorry, I have no idea. Is it important?"

"Extremely," he said.

She gave him a quizzical look but then he got down on one knee and pulled out a small silver container and her expression changed to one of utter shock. He opened the box and presented it to her. The precious red jewel twinkled in the artificial light, mimicking the stars above.

"We've been through a lot together, Julia, much of which was painful. Some of which was joyful. And it's all added up to this one crucial moment. I want to even out that score and then turn it completely around, so that we only have joyful days from here on out. I hope that if you accept this token of my affection, that I'll be able to do just that. So Julia Ogden, what do you say? Will you marry me?"

In response, she grabbed his coat collar and pulled him upright. She gazed into his eyes with her own gleaming pair and then kissed him more passionately than she had ever kissed him before.

Eventually they came up for air and he said breathlessly, "I'll take that as a yes."

She laughed, with tears of joy streaming down her face and then pulled him close again.

When they were exhausted from their lip exercise, Murdoch finally had an opportunity to put the ring on her finger. Julia gazed at it lovingly for several seconds and then they hugged for a time. Clasping hands, they continued their stroll through the park. Now they didn't feel so cold. In fact their bodies seemed to be tingling with a hidden fire. No doubt their exertions coupled with the excitement of what was to come, gave them the illusion of real warmth. Murdoch had a wonderful feeling that he'd never feel cold again.


End file.
